


Thorns

by H3L



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H3L/pseuds/H3L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A terrible curse. A handsome Prince. A tower. A dragon. And Brienne. </p>
<p>My contribution to the Halloween Fairytale Challenge, a J/B flavored take on the tale Briar Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Let me first say: thank you all so much for participating by writing AND by reading these stories! This has been such a joy to take part in and I can't wait to watch as it continues throughout the day! Rellie and I couldn't be more pleased! :D
> 
> And a special thanks to _Snowfright_ , who was an amazing beta, and to , for this wonderful illustration-[The dragon](http://jokertookmypicture.tumblr.com/post/65536202900/thorns-daenerys-the-dragon-brienne-this)

Thorns  
1.

> _A long time ago there were a King and a Queen who said every day, “Ah, if only we had a child!” yet they never had one. But it happened that once when the Queen was bathing, a frog crept out of the water onto the land, and said to her, “Your wish shall be fulfilled; before a year has gone by, you shall have a daughter.”_

“Good day, father!” Brienne said smiling. She bowed to him and Ser Goodwin when she reached his table, no longer in armor as she had been for her bout with Ser Hyle that morning, but wearing a long blue skirt and a leather jerkin laced up over a white tunic instead. The garb was the most feminine thing she owned and she always made sure to wear the outfit after successfully turning away another man foolish enough to enter the yard with her in hopes of winning her hand in marriage and, after her father’s death, her claim to Tarth. Though she was a woman, and gentle of heart, she was the most accomplished knight in the realm, called Brienne the Beauty by most. They did not call her ‘The Beauty’ for her face, for she was plain and favored her father’s look, but for her sword hand.

“Daughter,” King Selwyn greeted. He had a wide, honest smile and eyes that had dimmed somewhat with age, topped by thick, bushy, white brows. “Come, sit.” He gestured to the chair across from him, beside the Master-At-Arms. Brienne nodded and dropped gracelessly into the chair beside Ser Goodwin.

“My Lord,” Ser Goodwin addressed the King as Brienne sat down. “Your daughter has trounced Ser Hyle again this morning. He’s left with the other suitors after his defeat, leaving the west wing once again open for guests. That’ll be the third time this month.” Ser Goodwin winked and cuffed Brienne gently on the shoulder. “I was watching this morning, well fought, Princess.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Brienne replied. She had a naturally fair complexion to match her pale, blonde hair, and she blushed easily at Ser Goodwin’s words. Brienne turned from her sword master and to her father, grinning. “You wished to see me, father?” 

King Selwyn frowned, meeting Ser Goodwin’s eyes uneasily before addressing his daughter. Some said she was the best with a blade in a hundred years, and virtuous. She was the only gift the Gods had seen fit to offer the King of Tarth and his late Queen, and the King cherished her dearly. Still, no matter how he longed to keep her at his side, the west clamoured for assistance and Tarth would answer them.

“Yes, Brienne, I am glad you came so quickly. I trust Ser Hyle gave you no trouble.” Brienne beamed with pride, her bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“No more than usual,” she said casually, still smiling. Ser Goodwin chuckled but the King was nervous and he couldn’t manage his usual delight in his daughter’s exploits. 

“Indeed, that is good. Ser Hyle was due for a thrashing. I asked you here, daughter, not to celebrate but to speak with you on a matter of grave importance. Your Septa, Lady Roelle, has told you of Casterly Rock, yes?” Brienne’s eyebrows dipped as she thought, her teeth coming out to worry her lip.

“Some, I think. That was the seat of House Lannister,” she said finally. “'Hear Me Roar', were their words. Casterly Rock was the greatest seat of the Kingdom in the West, as Storm’s End is to the East, before the Sleeping Sickness swept across the land.” She nodded her head resolutely; sure she had given the right answer. 

“You are, of course, correct. Septa Roelle has done well. And do you know what happened to House Lannister once the Sleeping Sickness set in?” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers and eyeing her carefully. 

“They died,” she responded, and King Selwyn twitched his fingers anxiously. “The whole castle fell, and all of the smallfolk of Casterly Rock and Lannisport, from Kayce to Ashemark. They say the seat of the Westerlands is overgrown and still dangerous to venture in.” Brienne’s voice grew sad as she continued, her freckled face scrunching up as she thought of all those who had been lost to the disease. “They say if you cross the borders to the Westerlands you will fall to the Sleeping Sickness, and you will never wake. All of those people locked in their dreams, in their nightmares, starving and dying in their sleep.” The King shivered at the thought of his little girl, face pale and eyes closed. He could just imagine the brambles and vines of the countryside crawling over her like so many thorny fingers, keeping her to the ground and never letting her up again. 

“There is a briar that grows around the great castle on the rock, spreading some inches every year.” Ser Goodwin took up the story when Brienne finished, leaning forward and drawing the Princess’s attention to him and away from her nervous father. “No man has been able to trim the branches of this Briar, my Princess, no blade is sharp enough. And the briar grows, claiming villages and towns slowly, creeping ever outward. The Westerlands call for aid, for knights to come and tame the thicket.” He brought out a map and placed his finger on a holdfast marked Evenfall, her home. Tarth was a small island in the East, a Kingdom only by title and by the grace of the Storm Kings.

“Tarth shall answer the call, Ser Goodwin,” her father said. 

Ser Goodwin nodded to the King and left the room, patting Brienne’s hand gently as he stood.   
“Father,” she started once they were alone, “would you like me to lead a party to the West?” Brienne was anxious and excited and she felt her hands tremble with anticipation. A quest! She had always longed to go on a quest, to save maidens and to conquer warlords, perhaps even best a dragon! Brienne was never happier then with a sword in her hand. 

Her father reached his hand across the table and gently held her face, stroking her cheek and brushing aside some of her brittle hair. The Princess of Tarth knew she was plain, nay, ugly. Yet when her father looked at her so tenderly, like she was the most precious daughter in all the Kingdoms of Westeros, she felt beautiful. Before the King could answer his daughter Ser Goodwin returned with a woman. She was stout and dark of skin with a tangle of thick black and gray curls piled messily atop her head. Her skirt, composed of swaths of long, brightly-colored fabric, was worn and tattered and whispered across the flagstones as she walked. Ser Goodwin led the strange woman to the table where Brienne and her father sat, pulling out a chair for her before once again seating himself beside Brienne.

“My King, Princess, this is the Lady Margot, called Maggy by the smallfolk.”

“Called Maggy the Frog, you mean.” She laughed easily, turning to Princess Brienne with a great smile on her fleshy lips. “Is this the girl?” The woman said, peering out from beneath thick black eyelashes to meet Brienne’s inquisitive gaze. She had a kind face, Brienne thought, though it was withered and course looking, and soft brown eyes the color of honey. “Oh, of course you are. And what a perfect thing, and pretty,” she said. Brienne felt her eyebrows crease at the lie, she was not pretty, nor had she ever been called pretty by anyone honest. The woman must have sensed Brienne’s displeasure for she laughed and leaned over to look at the Princess more closely before reclining back into her chair. “Don’t like that do you? Well, it’s not your place to say is it, dearie? You’re not the one looking at you, eh?” The Princess frowned and opened her mouth to reply that she was not pretty, and she knew that, and that there was no reason at all for the woman to lie but the woman held up a finger and Brienne’s mouth snapped shut involuntarily. “Now then, lovely girl, you’ll have to leave tomorrow morning very early if you are to make it to the castle in time to break the curse. The journey will be long and arduous but-”

“Curse?” Brienne spluttered, looking from her father to Ser Goodwin and back again. “I thought the Westerlands to be ravaged by sickness. I thought the borders were merely overgrown with brambles that must be eradicated, cut back and removed.”

“If the King and Queen of Casterly Rock were in want of a gardener, little dove, I should be at High Garden speaking with the Tyrells, but no...” She trailed off and Brienne huffed at the woman, blushing crimson. She was comfortable with her father and his close associates, but more often than not was shy and quiet. The way this new woman spoke with her, so at ease and direct, made Brienne feel even more clumsy and slow, as though her tongue were swollen in her mouth “No, the sickness is a curse, child, and a terrible one at that. Only you may traverse the briar that grows around the castle, only you may wake the Kingdom.”

“Me? But how can I break the curse?”

“Ah, they have not told you?” The woman eyed the King disapprovingly. “And I thought all Kings were meant to be brave,” she laughed. “Child, you are the Princess that was promised. For one hundred years Casterly Rock and its surrounding lands have slept. For one hundred years the briar has grown, carrying with it on the tips of its thorns the sleeping sickness. But the briar and the sickness are a curse, laid on the Kingdom by a jealous Faerie Queen. For one hundred years the West has waited for a Princess to come and wake their Prince and break the spell.” 

“A prince?” Brienne asked nervously, hoping she had misheard. “I must wake a Prince?”

“Why, of course, sweetling. And a very handsome Prince he is, that Jaime Lannister.” The woman winked at Brienne and the Princess could feel the heat rising in her chest and her ears burned to their tips with embarrassment.

“But how?” She couldn’t stop the question falling from her lips. “It has been one hundred years, surely it is too late. Surely Prince Jaime is dead.” But the old woman merely chuckled and patted Brienne’s large freckled shoulder. 

“It is an enchanted sleep, my dear. Now, don’t worry. They’ll all wake up right as rain, I promise you, Princess.”

“I cannot be the Princess who was promised,” she muttered. “I am hardly a lady. If you wanted a real princess you ought to go to King’s Landing or to Winterfell. The King’s there have daughters as well, better ones than me.” She sank lower in her chair and tucked her head into her chest, dejected. The first opportunity to go on a quest and it wasn’t a quest at all, just a case of mistaken identity. A hand fell to Brienne’s arm, surprisingly warm and firm, when looked up expecting her father to be the one to comfort her, she met the eyes of the Lady Margot instead.

“Take heart, child, I am here for you, no other would pass this test,” she whispered before standing abruptly, snatching up a piece of coal from the brazier. She used it, still hot from the fire, to draw a path on the map from Evenfall Hall to Casterly Rock. Then, in the empty space that represented the Sunset Sea, she sketched a map of Casterly Rock and its entrances. She marked a tall tower with a thickly drawn ‘J.’ “This is the room where your Prince resides. You must wake him to break the curse. The old woman dragged Brienne’s face close to the map with one hand, the other tapping the ‘J’ rhythmically. “Get here, child, and your _quest_ will be complete.” It was as though Lady Margot had read her mind. Brienne blinked and stared at the map and at the tower and the ornate ‘J’ marking the resting place of the sleeping Prince.

“How did the Kingdom come to be cursed?” Princess Brienne asked, her fingertips lingering on the coal-marked map and smudging the tower slightly as she drew back.

“Casterly Rock was a great Kingdom. That is where the story begins, would you like to hear it, child? It is long and you will need to rest this night.” Brienne could only nod, pushing aside her anxiety in favor of hearing the tale of Casterly Rock. “Come closer then, dearie, and you both would do well to hear the tale as well,” she finished looking to Ser Goodwin and King Selwyn. The men complied, dragging their chairs towards Lady Margot and the fire burning in the grate.

“I believe we are ready,” Ser Goodwin said kindly, acknowledging the old woman with reverence. His tone made Brienne wonder how Ser Goodwin knew this woman.

“Queen Joanna of Casterly Rock was a beautiful woman, kind and gracious and everything a Queen should be. She was young and as golden as the rising sun, but the Queen was deeply sad. Though she was happy in her marriage, she went without child for a great time. She would walk for hours around the pools and lakes, dotted across the western countryside, wishing for a child to quicken in her womb. But none came. On one such day she was walking beside a pool, clear as crystal and shallow, when she came across a little frog. It was hopping along the pebbles. Joanna, being kindhearted, knelt and observed the creature for a moment, humming to herself, before standing and wishing the little frog a good day. She had just turned to leave when she heard a voice behind her, ‘thank you, my Queen,’ it said. 

She was startled and shocked to find no one behind her but the little green frog beside the pool. ‘I know for what it is you so desperately wish for, good lady: a Prince to lighten your halls and your husband’s heart, to be King and to rule when you are gone. A Princess you already have, but I shall grant you this wish. And because you were so kind and polite to me, I shall grant you one more. There will be another Queen, just like you, who longs for a child to grow in her belly. In your honor I shall grant her wish as well, and give her a Princess to be your son’s lady love and to rule by his side.’ Then the little frog was gone and the Queen could scarcely let herself believe what good luck she’d had! And though she did not believe it could be true, her womb did indeed quicken and by the next moon she was surely with child.”

Brienne realized she had been leaning forward and clutched the table in an attempt to right herself. Lady Margot had a twinkle in her eye as she continued and Brienne chanced a glance at her father who was white as a ghost and looking at the Lady seemingly stunned. “Father,” Brienne said softly, reaching out to King Selwyn, but he only took her hand and gave her a wan smile. 

“On the day the Queen gave birth to her twins,” Maggy continued, “the whole of the Westerlands celebrated. Prince Jaime, the Prince given by the little frog, and the Princess Cersei were to be the most beloved children in all the land. And the King was so pleased with his lady wife and his new children that he ordered a feast be prepared for the christening and he invited everyone in the kingdom. The Queen, knowing that magic had granted her the son her husband had so desperately craved, asked that the Faerie Court be invited as well. King Tywin agreed, and they had a special table set for the Faeries with newly crafted golden plates and golden goblets, and large crystal bowls were set out for them and filled with fruit and honey. It was then that they learned of a terrible dispute between two of the Faerie’s, one Jenny of Oldstones, a very dear friend of mine. The other was a powerful Faerie from the Reach called the Queen of Thorns. It is said that the Tyrell line is descended from her throughout the ages, and her magic is what grows the famous roses of Highgarden. One and ten faeries were invited, and there were one and ten beautiful gilt place settings, but the Faerie, the Queen of Thorns, Olenna was not invited to appease Jenny and because King Tywin Lannister was jealous of the King of the Reach, who already had many sons and whose wife was always large with child, as fertile as the grounds of his Kingdom. 

During the feast the Faeries, happy at having been invited, wished to show their gratitude to the gracious King and Queen and so they all stood and approached the Prince and Princess, sleeping in their bassinets. Each Faerie took a turn blessing the children, they wished them beauty, virtue, wisdom and grace. The blessings continued on and on until it was Jenny’s turn. She had intended to gift them with kindness but a great rumble shook the hall. The revellers froze in their seats when the Queen of Thorns entered, yellow rose petals littered the ground where she stepped and her green dress shimmered like fire when she moved. Olenna had eyes for no one but the children. Without greeting she cried out to the hall, ‘The King’s son shall in his ten and eighth year prick himself with a rose thorn, and fall down dead.’ A great roar of thunder echoed throughout the castle and Olenna turned and left without saying a word more.

Everyone in the hall was shocked at the intrusion, but Jenny still had a gift to give to the children. She stepped forward and to the little sleeping Prince she spoke. ‘It shall not be death,’ she said, “but a deep sleep of a hundred years into which the Prince and this Kingdom shall fall.’ For she could not undo the spell, but she could spread it out and soften it. ‘There shall be a Princess, one who is born to be the Prince’s equal in every way, and she shall undo the spell with a kiss.’”

“A kiss,” Brienne squeaked, “but I can’t!” 

“Hush now,” Maggy tutted at the lanky girl nervously folded in her chair. “The tale needs telling. Now do you promise not to interrupt?” Brienne opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly with just a stern look from Lady Margot, she nodded her agreement. “There now, where was I? Ah, yes, the Princess shall break the spell with a kiss, waking Prince Jaime and restoring the Kingdom. The King, who would fain keep his heir from the misfortune of the curse, had all of the rose bushes dug up and rooted throughout the land and burned. He rid all of Casterly Rock of the flower first and then the rest of the Westerlands followed. Meanwhile, the girl grew up beautiful and the boy grew to be valiant. He was the best blade in all the land and she the most beloved Princess. It happened that on the very day of the Prince and Princesses eighteenth birthday, while the Prince sparred with his younger brother in the yard, that the King and Queen were not in palace and the three children were left quite alone. Prince Jaime and Tyrion, his brother, stumbled across a rose bush growing wild against the castle wall. They followed the winding vines that crept up and up the tower and so the boys, after having retrieved their sister from her stitching, chased the vines up the tower to the highest room. There grew great fat blossoms of red and yellow and pink, each and every one beautiful and forgotten in the tower window. None of the children had ever seen such beautiful flowers, and Prince Jaime, being the foolish knight that he was, reached out and plucked one of the blossoms to give to his mother. Not having seen a rose bush he pricked his finger on the thorns and in that very moment, when he felt the sting on the pad of his finger, he fell down upon the floor in a deep sleep. His sister and his brother immediately lay beside him, yawning, and the King and Queen, who had just entered the palace, fell asleep upon reaching their thrones and the whole court with them. The horses in their stables and the boys that tended them all nodded off, and the gulls on the roof and the dogs in the yard and all the cooks and knight and fishermen all drifted off at the work. And the wind fell outside the castle walls, and on the trees before the castle not a leaf moved again. 

But around the castle the rose bush grew and became a hedge. And the hedge became a briar. And the briar grew and grew, stretching its thorny fingers out across the land. It covered the castle from the lowest stone to the tallest tower and not even the great red and gold flags of house Lannister with their rampant lions could be seen through the brambles. In every town in which it grew, the smallfolk fell asleep. And for one hundred years it has grown and grown, taking over town after town, village after village. Knights and Princes have tried for all these years to get to the castle, to wake the family that lived there but none have been able to get through the thorny barrier. All those brave and courageous enough to try and enter the Kingdom and reach the castle, have become caught in the hedges, as though the brambles had hands, and were stuck there until their dying.”

“You must not go,” King Selwyn’s voice was low and firm but Brienne could only turn to him and gently hold his hand in hers. Neither one of them was delicate, but the Princess tried to be as gentle as she could with her father’s hand in her own. 

“I am not afraid father, I must go. Someone must wake the Westerlands and restore the Kingdom. I vow that I shall complete this task.” 

The Lady Margot was nodding at her side, very suddenly up from her chair and laying a hand on Brienne’s shoulder once again. “Indeed, you must, for no one else will succeed in this but you,” she said and when Brienne turned to Maggy she saw that the old woman was not looking at her, but at the King. Her father, who was brave and strong and everything Brienne thought a King should be, was worried. His brow was creased and he was pale and sweating, shaking.

“Father,” Brienne cried, standing and examining him more closely. “Are you well?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, finding her eyes with his own. “Do not worry, my child, I am well. The Lady Margot is correct, we have made a promise. You must go.”

The Princess watched her father but he said nothing else, only let Maggy tell Brienne the way to the Westerlands and discuss with Ser Goodwin what provisions Brienne would need. So she sat close to Maggy, nervously running her hands roughly over her azure skirts. “How do I wake him?” She asked, uneasy and excited all at once. She was to go on a true quest. She was to save a kingdom. She tried not to think of the Prince and only of the story Maggy had told her. 

“I have told you, dear heart. It shall be broken in the same way all curses are broken in the legends, with a kiss.” 

Brienne blanched. She had never been kissed by a man who was not her father but for once, on the cheek, by the detestable Ser Hyle. She had given him two black eyes for the offence of his courting. 

“Yes, I know what you _said_ , but there must be another way,” she begged quietly and desperately, afraid her father might note their whispered conversation.

The old woman shook her head looking not in the least bit empathetic to the Princess’s situation, “I am afraid not, dove. True love is the only thing that will do it.” Brienne felt tears well up her eyes but she nodded. All was lost already, for she knew she could make no man fall in love with her. Still, she would go on this quest, she would fulfil her oath. Once Maggy was satisfied she folded the map and tucked it carefully into Brienne’s hand and pulled the tall Princess’s head down so that Maggy might kiss her hair.

“Do not worry. You were born for this, dearie. Now get some rest, child, you leave at daybreak.”

2.

> _She lay, so beautiful that he could not turn his eyes away._

The Stormlands were lush and kind, dotted with farms and mills, and Brienne knew all the roads. As such, it took her just over a sennight to reach the borders of the Westerlands on horseback. She was beautifully armored with blue-enameled plate and carried not one but two swords at her side. One was hers, it was a beautifully crafted blade called Maiden’s Kiss. The other was Valyrian steel, a gift from the Lady Margot, or Maggy as she had asked to be called the morning of Brienne’s departure. She gave it to Brienne to aid the Princess’s quest. She told the armored maiden that the blade was called Bright Roar, and it would help her reach Casterly Rock. The steel had been tempered by dragon fire before the great Doom of Valyria and would need to be tempered again before Brienne entered the hedge maze for it to work.

And so she stood, on the path marked for her by Maggy, with her hands on her hips, staring at the large sleeping form of a dragon on the edge of the Westerlands and wondering how in the light of the seven she would convince the slumbering beast to help her. It was a beautiful beast, the likes of which she had never seen before. Its large leathery body was as white as freshly fallen snow and its ridged back was tipped in glinting white and black bone. Brienne had removed her pack of provisions from her steed, slapping its hind quarters to send it running back home before Brienne approached the beast. Maggy warned that while the dragon would not harm Brienne, she insisted it would let her pass, a horse was sure to become a light snack. The Princess pressed her gloved palms roughly over her thighs as she cleared her throat nervously. “Ahem.” Maggy had assured her the dragon would help, would be glad to help, even without Brienne’s having to ask, but when confronted with a beast that possessed a head as large as a carriage, the maiden couldn’t help the tremble of fear that ran through her. She cleared her throat again, “ahem, that is to say, uh, hello?” The beast sighed and stretched, its long claws spreading as it woke from its sleep. “I’m sorry to wake you but-”

 

“Oh, and what do I see here?” The beast grumbled as it stirred. “Is it a knight? Ser, leave this land, no man may save this doomed Kingdom.” The dragon folded its long forearms and rested its massive head back down, blowing small harmless blazes from its nostrils. The beast lazily blinked its large violet eyes at her, they were the color of summer flowers that grew on Tarth and lined in white, feathery lashes. 

 

Brienne took a step forward, pulling her helmet off as she did so and bowing. “And what of a woman?” She asked, running her fingers through the sweaty locks that tumbled about her face as the helmet was removed. 

 

“Oh,” the great winged beast rumbled, its words shaking the ground beneath the Princess’s feet. “That does change things. Step closer, my child, let me look at you.” 

 

Brienne did as she was told, though she frowned taciturnly, “I am not a child,” she said. “I am a woman.” 

 

“You are a child to me, maiden, I am very old,” the dragon retorted. She did not respond as the creature continued to hold her in its purple gaze. “Do you deny it?”

 

“No,” she replied honestly, “I do not know how old you are.”

 

“Good,” the beast rumbled, “very good. I was old when this land was young. Now, show me your sword.” At the dragon’s demand Brienne drew Maiden’s Kiss out of its scabbard from habit, holding it aloft before her. The animal huffed and narrowed its eyes. “No, no, not that one,” it grumbled impatiently, “show me the other!” Its irritated roar was terrifying and Brienne struggled to sheath her own sword, shaking, before pulling out Bright Roar. The Valyrian steel blade glimmered in the afternoon sun and the dragon’s lavender eyes glowed oddly as it studied the new sword. “Closer, child, bring it closer.” Brienne nervously took a step forward, and another, and another, until she could feel the heat of the breath of the beast on her skin. 

 

“It’s called-” She started, but the dragon tilted its head and seemed to smile exposing long rows of jagged teeth with bits of bone and flesh and fabric visible between the barbs, causing her to falter over her words.

 

The great winged beast rose up and sat back on its haunches, its two great pearly wings of purple and white and pale yellow spreading out behind its back as the dragon resettled itself. “I know what it’s called, tiny one, this blade is Bright Roar. It was forged by the breath of my ancestors and wielded by the Dragon Lords of Old Valyria.” Brienne felt sweat begin to bead beneath her layers of leather and plate as its words rolled hotly over her. 

 

The dragon lifted its great head, drew in a deep and ragged breath, pulling Brienne’s hair forward and causing her to stagger as the beast seemed to suck her in, before releasing a torrent of hot wind on her. Brienne held the blade up in a mockery of defence, attempting to protect her face, but the beast did not breathe fire. Instead, as its hot breath beat against her in waves, the blade in her hand began to glow. The hilt pulsed beneath her gloved fingers and Brienne watched with wide eyes as sparks skittered along the blade edge. Suddenly the blade burst into red and gold flames from tip to hilt, fire licking along the edge brightly and causing her to nearly release the hilt and drop Bright Roar in shock. The dragon’s breath cooled and stopped but the burning blade still heated the maid’s cheek. 

 

“What have you done?” Her voice was soft and reverent, but the dragon only rumbled in a way that reminded Brienne of her father’s deep chuckle. 

 

“I have restored that blade to glory. Simply speak ' _Dracary_ s' and the blade will light, the word ' _Kirimvose_ ' will quench the flames. I can promise it will burn long enough for you to reach the castle, after that I cannot say. Bright Roar does not belong to you and once my magic has worn off, it will only obey its master.” Brienne nodded absently, having eyes only for the Valyrian steel burning in her hand, which she swung back and forth before her face, watching as the flames danced. 

 

“Kirimvose,” she said and watched as the flames guttered and died. She lit the sword and dimmed it once or twice more, letting the strange words become more comfortable on her tongue, before putting out Bright Roar with more ease and familiarity.

 

“You must go now, go child. Head West.” Brienne was jarred back to herself, dragging her eyes away from the sheath at her side and removing her hand, albeit reluctantly, from the magic sword’s hilt. 

 

“Before I leave, what can I do to thank you, er, dragon?” She tested the word carefully, unsure how to address the magical creature that had aided her.

 

“Daenerys. That is my name and so you may call me. You are a friend to this land, Princess Brienne of Tarth, you owe no debt.” The beast, no, _Daenerys_ , Brienne thought, relaxed again and rested its great had on its long forearms, its claws curling under delicately. 

 

“How do you know me?”

 

“You are the Princess that was promised. Now go, there is not much time.” Brienne nodded and turned towards the dark and looming brambles that rose up beyond the dragon. 

 

The vines were black as ink and withered, hard, covered with glinting thorns as long as stitching needles. Brienne approached carefully, pulling Bright Roar from its scabbard and smiling as she whispered, “Dracarys.” The sword burst instantly into flames, heating her face and hands and filling her with warmth and renewed courage. She swiped savagely at the strange brambles and immediately they fell to the ground, shorn and burnt at the base. Strangely the briar seemed to shiver, and Brienne found that she could see more clearly through the thicket. It was almost as if the rest of the brambles knew of her approach, and the destruction of their kin, and so they shrank back in fear. As she entered it seemed that the briar swallowed her, closing off the way back and obscuring her view of the creature behind her. As it was, she did not see the dragon shimmer and shift and shrink down until what stood in its place was no more than a girl. One so small she would only just reach Brienne’s shoulder, were they to stand beside each other.

 

“Fare thee well, Princess,” said the girl who stood in place of the monstrous dragon, her long white hair wafting about her face with a strong wind, her bright violet eyes looking to West. “Fare thee well.”

 

Brienne hacked and slashed for days, sweat pouring down her face and neck, soaking into her gorget and continuing down her body when the fabric against her skin was so sticky and saturated that there was nowhere else for it to go. She was huffing, near to falling flat on her face in exhaustion, when she saw it looming in against the night sky. Casterly Rock. The light of her sword had been the only thing lighting her way in the darkness as she’d hacked through the thicket in the still night of the abandoned West. Brienne thought that perhaps she had gone through a village or two as she went, though she couldn’t have been sure. Even in the day light hours the brambles climbed thick and high overhead and blocked out much of the sun no matter how she decimated the lower branches to make her way. The sight of the castle, Casterly Rock, could not have come at a better time, for her provisions were running low, leaving her with only a few dry sausages and a bit of crusty bread. Her body was scratched and tired and beaten from the journey. The castle loomed imposingly and Brienne struggled to read her map in the dark, finally giving up and folding it back into her pouch. She would continue forward to the castle and then she would find a place to rest, _finally_. 

 

She once again took up her flaming sword and pushed onward, the Princess’s resolve stronger now that she has seen the shadow of her destination piercing the starlit sky above her head. Quite abruptly the brambles ended, causing Brienne to nearly trip forward and fall when Bright Roar met no resistance as she swung. She blinked and realized she could see the full view of the sky above her. The moon shone, with a light she had missed sorely in her seemingly endless tunnel of thorns, and the stars all sparkled like diamonds in the black. It lit the stone masonry of the castle and the surrounding lower village, Lion’s Town, that seemed to sit in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by thickets of brittle, black thorns, but devoid of brambles and branches itself. 

 

Brienne stumbled doggedly forward, locating the stables. She pulled the oil and lantern from her pack, lighting the lantern before she entered the stables blindly. Inside she found dry straw, untouched for one hundred years, and a sleeping stable boy slouched beside the door on a small three-legged wooden stool. She edged around the sleeping boy, covered he was in a layer of dust so thick she longed to wipe it away but could not bear to touch him. The sleep was eerie, unnatural. She could feel it as she examined the horses that had lain down in their pens and dreamt of what she wasn’t sure. If they were anything like the horses on Tarth she imagined they must dream of running. 

 

The Princess hunkered down in the hay, too tired to even eat the last of her provisions, and fell immediately into a fitful sleep on her scratchy bed. When she’d arrived at the stable she’d been nervous that if she slept she would not rise, but the pull was too great and when Brienne woke to sun shining brightly through the doorway onto her little makeshift pallet, she realized she hadn’t even noticed when she’d fallen asleep. So tired she had been that she did not even dream, it seemed as though her eyes closed in the bleak darkness of a foreign land once and opened in no more than a beat to a sunlit stable that reminded her of home. The sky was clear, the sun was warm, and Brienne felt herself smile for the first time in days to feel the heat on her face. She rose and collected her pack, rifling through it to locate a bit of the bread she had left, tearing a chunk of it off and swallowing thickly. Her water supply was near to empty and so she searched out a well, drinking her fill and refilling her skein before she ventured towards the castle. 

 

The village was unnervingly quiet, its inhabitants sleeping at their posts. There was dust and mud on many of the villagers who had been sleeping out of doors all this time, but she noted no animals had disturbed the sleeping smallfolk, for indeed it seemed that even the pests were asleep. Spiders hung stationary in their webs, squirrels and chipmunks fell from their branches, birds were nestled, unmoving in the trees. Food that she supposed had once rotted was now so old it was petrified and black on the metal plates of various kitchens and inns. The mead and wine and ale had all dried up in the cups of the tavern goers and from the bowls of the solitary brothel Brienne entered. The Princess constantly looked over her shoulder as she rushed past the inns and homes of Lion’s Town, towards her destination atop the great bluff that Maggy had simply called, _the Rock_. 

 

Pulling the map from her pack she examined the entrances to the castle, choosing to go directly in the front gate. The room marked with Maggy’s ornate ‘J’ was in the western most tower of the castle, overlooking the smaller of the two practice yards boasted of by Casterly Rock, and the Sunset Sea beyond that. She would be able to reach the tower easily if she followed the outerwall along the front gate, around the northern side of the castle, and then take the tower’s side door up. This would allow her to avoid at least half of the many stairs that led from the base of the tower to the uppermost room. She also thought that it might afford her the pleasure of avoiding seeing most of the castle’s slumbering inhabitants. She was put off by the eerie feeling of the sleeping smallfolk of Lion’s Town enough to want to avoid seeing the people of court that were sure to be trapped in the Sleeping Curse’s grasp throughout Casterly Rock’s multitude of corridors.

 

The rampart was high and Brienne climbed the steps carefully, avoiding knocking over the guards in their red and gold plate armor. The armor, she couldn’t help but notice, was finer than any she had ever seen. Even the guards of Storm’s End did not have armor half so fine as the plate worn but the Lannister soldiers. There were beautifully crafted lions on the shoulders and on the bracers as well as myriad scroll work across the breast plate. Then there was the fierce, yawning maw of a lion with gilded, menacing looking teeth on their golden helmets. She shivered but continued walking, her destination was far off and she wanted to be from that uncanny place as soon as she could manage it. 

 

The view from the wall where the Princess trod was equal parts beautiful and horrifying. She could see the brambles and branches and horrible black thorns that spread out across the countryside, like a black rolling wave of evil, it emanated from the very tower she was heading for. It seemed that the briar was indeed born from that place and that tower was the only bit of the castle and the village touched by the thorns. Past the briar though, the Sunset Sea rushed and lapped against the sleepy coast. It was not colored the soft blue and turquoise like the warm waters of her isle. Instead the water that beat against Casterly Rock was black and green and oddly, as the sun reflected on its depths, she saw the most vivid sweeps of red, orange, and purple all changing and flowing with the tide. She had never seen the Sunset Sea, Shipbreaker Bay and the clear waters of the Narrow Sea were all she knew, but Brienne longed to dive into those alien waters and wash away all the dirt and sweat and apprehension of her quest. 

 

Too soon she reached the westernmost tower of Casterly Rock, dark it loomed above her, covered in flowering vines and dripping with black thorns from every inch of the wall. The doorway was, thankfully, hardly covered, and Brienne was easily able to rip away the vines to open it. The door was heavy, and creaked from disuse, but swung open to admit her all the same. Across the landing was another door that led out to the opposite wall and to her left rose the stone stairway, up and up. The Princess felt fear grip her as she ascended the steps, letting the heavy door fall closed behind her. The light from the open windows in the passage was clear and bright but her heart was heavy. 

 

_What if I cannot wake him, she thought. What if I am **not** the Princess that was promised? What if he cannot love me?_ Her thoughts strayed to the kiss that Maggy had told Brienne she would have to bestow upon the Prince in order to wake him, and feared his waking to find her horrible, ugly, ungainly, and wanting. What if he laughs at me? She shook her to clear her thoughts and hoped upon hope that perhaps the Prince was not as handsome as Maggy implied. Perhaps she had only thought to sweeten the quest for Brienne, thinking the Princess was a petty girl like some of the other noblewomen of her acquaintance. _Mayhaps_ , she hoped, _he is terribly short and skinny._ She hoped he was nothing like the sort of man she would have wanted to impress, nothing like Prince Renly… Brienne bit her lip at the thought of Prince Renly. She could still remember the way he had danced with her and called her charming, the way he’d smiled when she waved at him from the practice yard as she stood over the fallen body of Loras Tyrell…the way he had begged her to come back when she had sprinted away from him after finding him on his knees before Ser Loras in a darkened alcove before the last ball she’d ever attended at Storm’s End. No, he was not a man to impress either. _No man is worth this much turmoil_ , she thought. She steeled herself for the end of her quest, looking back on all that she had already accomplished. She’d ridden across the land, treated with a dragon, wielded a flaming sword to cut through an enchanted briar to reach this castle and now Brienne, Princess of Tarth, would wake Prince Jaime Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, whether he’d like it or not. 

 

The topmost room of the tower had a squat door that Brienne had to duck to fit into, though the hinges swung easily. The first thing she noticed was the light, the bright sun came in through the many windows in the small room and though the rushes were old they were dry and crunched yellow under her feet. The room was warm, cozy even, and those that slept there looked peaceful, unlike the many that Princess Brienne had seen on her way to the tower. They were untouched by the layer of dust and grime that seemed to accumulate on the guards and townsfolk, and though Brienne knew they had been struck by the curse same as everyone else, the trio that slept before her seemed to have laid together of their own will, as if to nap away an afternoon and not a lifetime. 

 

The smallest figure was a boy, Brienne presumed the younger brother of Prince Jaime, Tyrion. To her great surprise he was not only small, but a dwarf. She could tell by the set of his legs, though he did indeed look young, not more than five and ten. He was nestled between two of the most beautiful people Brienne had ever seen, to her dismay, the twin children of King Tywin and Queen Joanna. Cersei was fair and lithe with long, golden hair that she wore with crown braids and loose down her back. Her pale face was without mark and her bowed lips were gentle in repose. She had one hand tucked carefully beneath her chin and the other was stretched across her little brother and tangled with the hand of her twin, Prince Jaime. He too had beautiful golden hair, though it was shorter, hanging in front of his face and not quite meeting his shoulders. His long eyelashes rested against a golden cheek, touched by the sun more than his sister’s, though Brienne noted it was still unmarred. Not so much as a stray freckle graced his skin. He was tall, she could tell from the way he was spread out against the ground, and strong beneath the cotton of his crimson tunic. Brienne sighed. It had been too much to hope that Maggy had exaggerated the Prince’s handsome features. As Brienne examined the fallen Prince she decided that in actuality, Maggy had not done Prince Jaime justice. 

 

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she examined the Prince more closely, the steady rise and fall of his chest was so at odds with her own panicked breathes. She leaned forward, nervously eyeing the soft skin of his lips, placing her hand gently against his chin. She leaned ever closer, her breath mingling with his, and she had almost slipped her eyes shut to kiss him as Maggy instructed, when his eyes opened. Brienne made an undignified noise and shot up as though he’d burned the fingers that had so gently kissed the skin of his face. 

 

“You’re awake!” She cried, a smile breaking across her features after the shock wore off some.

 

“Of course I’m bloody awake,” he rasped. “You were about to…what were you about to do? Who are you?” His voice was nothing like his face, he spoke low and sharp, thick from sleep.

 

“I-I am Brienne of House Tarth and I was trying to wake you. You-You’ve been asleep, Prince Jaime.” He blinked at her like a great golden owl and she saw that beneath the fringe of his gilt hair and long, pale lashes he had eyes that were greener than any lily pond she had ever seen. 

 

“How do you know me?” He said, untangling himself from his brother and sister, still oddly fast asleep on the stone floor, and standing to brush himself off. 

 

“I was sent to find you by Lady Margot,” she tried by way of explanation but he merely narrowed his green eyes at her before glancing at his sleeping siblings. 

 

“I know of no Lady Margot,” he replied, his voice laced with suspicion. The Prince regarded the two sleeping figures and dropped to the floor grabbing up his sister’s hand and gently patting her face. “Why is she still asleep?!” He began to shake her and then to shake his brother, but neither one stirred from their slumber. “Did you do this?!” He rounded on her, standing quickly and pressing his hand to her throat, regardless of the fact that she was armed and armored and he was in naught but breeches, a tunic, and boots. “What did you do to them?” He asked her, dangerously quiet, but Brienne met his eyes and tried to slow her heart. 

 

“I did nothing, you have been cursed. You have all been cursed, I was sent to wake you.” He sneered at her and Brienne tried to remain calm. “I am not lying; you have been asleep for one hundred years, Prince Jaime.” At this the Prince guffawed and held her more tightly, pressing her back and tightening his grip until she had her back against the wall beside one of the room’s large windows.

 

“Tell it true, wench, what happened to them?!” He roared at her like the lion of his house and Brienne grew quickly tired of his accusations. 

 

“Look outside, see for yourself,” she spat at his face, lifting her gloved hand to fist itself in the Prince’s tunic and shoving his head towards the open window. She felt, rather than saw, his reaction as he took in the countryside. His fingers slackened, eventually losing their hold on her neck all together, as he took in the tangle of brambles that covered the side of the tower and the yard, black and crawling over the outlying rock until it reached the sheer drop off into the sea. 

 

“Seven hells,” he breathed against her ear, too engrossed in the sight of the briar to sense the shiver it caused to run down her spine. Jaime had never seen anything like the briar of thorny roses that seemed to engulf his father’s kingdom as far as the eye could see. He turned back to Brienne and blinked, stepping away from her. “How?”

 

“It was a curse, laid upon you at your christening by a Faerie called Olenna. Did you not know?” 

 

He raised a perfect blonde eyebrow at the ungainly woman before him, armored and filthy. “No, I didn’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked. Are you cursed as well?” 

 

She tilted her head. “No,” the Princess replied, confused at his inquiry.

 

“Then what is a big, ugly wench like you doing here?” It was his tone that stung more than anything. The insult rolled off his tongue easily, without even a second thought. Brienne reeled, her fears realized at Prince Jaime’s casual dismissal of her.

 

“Nothing,” she said softly, not quite hiding the pain in her voice. “I’m leaving.”

 

She turned away from him and Jaime straightened up, placing his wide hands on perfectly strong and narrow hips. “Hey! Hey, you can’t just wake me up and leave. Wake them!”

 

Brienne spun around, fury tingeing her vision. “I am not some servant to be ordered about!”

 

“You will wake them. I am the Prince and I command you to!” He shouted back at her, advancing on the Princess, but Brienne wasn’t going to be intimidated by him again. She was as tall as he was even though he had two years on her, and she was just as strong as he was, she was sure of it. 

 

“I am not your subject! I am Princess Brienne of Tarth and I am LEAVING!” She cried and stomped towards the tower door. Royal, spoilt Prince Jaime could rot in that tower for all she cared. 

 

Brienne was armored and Jaime wasn’t, so although she was more likely to beat him in a fight, he was faster. “You’re a Princess?” He asked her, side-stepping and rounding to block her escape. Brienne almost whimpered with frustration. 

 

“Yes, please move.” 

 

“Princess, please. I am asking you, please wake them.” Jaime’s green eyes were pleading and Brienne could feel the desperation coming off of him in waves. She sighed, feeling her shoulders sag. 

 

“I can’t. Maggy, Lady Margot, she told me everyone else would wake up when you woke up.” She hated admitting it to him, admitting her failure. She felt blood rush to her face and hoped the dirt and sweat that seemed to cover every inch of her was enough to hide her pointless blushing. 

 

“Have you tried?” He begged and Brienne felt her resolve crumble in the face of his pleas.

 

“No,” she admitted reluctantly.

 

“Could you? Could you try?” He stepped away from the doorway and edged towards her, more sedately and held a hand out although it never reached her as she leaned back and away from his questing fingers. 

 

“Fine,” Brienne relented, though she suspected it would do no good. She turned from him and looked to the other occupants of the small, slightly stuffy room. From his anxious gaze there was no question about whom he would prefer to wake first. Cersei Lannister, his beautiful twin, lay prone beside their brother, the afternoon sun glinting on her hair and warming her shoulders. Brienne knelt down and touched Cersei’s cheek carefully, her hand cupping the chin of the sleeping Princess, but nothing happened. Her green eyes, that Brienne imagined looked like Jaime’s, remained firmly closed. 

 

“Well, do it. Do whatever it is you did and wake her up.” His impatient voice was close to her ear and the Princess suppressed the urge to groan. 

 

“I did,” she groused, turning to him and finding his face too close to her for comfort. “It didn’t work.”

 

“Try again,” he urged her, grabbing her hand in his large palm. His skin was warm and calloused against hers as he carefully pulled her hand towards the face of his sleeping sister.

 

“Prince Jaime, it isn’t working.” 

 

His face crumpled as he repetitively pulled her large hand and pressed it to Cersei’s cold cheek over and over again. Finally he released her, falling back and resting his head on his knees, his hair blending with Cersei’s blond curls. “Go.”

 

Brienne reached out and pressed her hand to his shoulder. “Jaime,” she tried softly but he shook her off roughly.

 

“Get out!” He roared, and so she left him there.

3.

> _And he stooped down and gave her kiss. But as soon as their lips met she did open her eyes and looked upon him quite sweetly._

Brienne stumbled down the steps in a stupor, her fears confirmed as she heard the door slam shut behind her. She wandered down and down and down, passing the landing from which she had entered and continuing onwards to the courtyard at the base of the tower. Brienne passed through the garden, ignoring the springs there, and headed directly for the side gate and the immediacy of that bit of hedge that hid away the Kingdom. She could wait another few days for a bath and a meal; her need to be gone from Casterly Rock and be rid of the horrible Prince Jaime outweighed her desperation to be out of armor and into clean water.

“Dracarys,” she whispered, drawing Bright Roar and raising the sword high to tackle the brittle, dangerous briar. To her horror the sword did not light and when her swing reached the thorny tangle it cut through the branches but it seemed to leave more in its wake. Brienne felt tears well in her eyes as she swung again to the same result. It was as though the hedge grew from the cuts instead of being diminished by them. “Dracarys,” she tried again but the sword resolutely refused to light. She hacked and hacked but the hedge persisted, no matter how she raged at it. 

That was how Prince Jaime found her, some hours later, as the sky dimmed. She was cursing, filthy and wasted on the ground, tear tracks on her face and cuts bleeding from her hands where the thorns had bitten into her. He had not intended to go to her, thinking she had left, but through his grief he thought he heard a whisper. It had sounded as though someone called to him, but when he looked up to the window he saw nothing but thorny vines and the branches of an old weirwood. It was then that he heard her wails as she tried to re-enter the enchanted hedge that seemed to enclose the castle and Lion’s Town. He’d watched her from the window for some time, saw how she pushed through the fatigue and the pain, at one point ripping at the thorns with her bare hands and shredding her gloves. His sweet sister and his brother moved not an inch in all the time he’d laid with them, their breaths were shallow and their skin cool to the touch. Not her. She raged and burned and moved in the yard below him. 

Princess Brienne of Tarth, he thought. Jaime could recall little of Tarth. Last he knew it was a small isle Kingdom in the East, sheltered in Shipbreaker Bay and there only by the grace of the Storm Kings who were on good terms with the inhabitants of Evenfall Hall. Tarth was the family that ruled Evenfall, and the island so named for them. Endrew Tarth had been the King there, to Jaime’s recollection. Long dead now, he supposed. And Endrew Tarth’s heir would have been this girl’s father, the warrior Princess who was tirelessly trying to escape from him and failing miserably. 

If she was the one who was sent to wake him then someone thought she was capable, perhaps she only needed a little help. Help he could offer her, he decided finally. Taking the stairs two at a time he headed for the Princess, he wanted to reach her in case she somehow managed to tame the hedge before his arrival. Jaime was taken aback at seeing the guards of his house, two men he knew well, slumped asleep beside the doorway to the garden, he tried to ignore them as he made his way through the overgrown flowers and past the hot springs his mother loved so well. For a moment he almost abandoned his quest to get that beast of a girl to help him, to look for his mother. But what would he do when he found her? She would sleep like everyone else, and he didn’t think he could bear seeing her so still, as his brother and sister were. 

He approached cautiously, the towheaded girl was tired and beaten but it was clear she was desperate to be gone from the grounds and a desperate animal was dangerous. She was wounded, he could see blood on the dirt and grass, and imagined how terribly her hands must sting. He was gratified when she turned to him, her face wet with tears and her big, blue eyes glistening. She had seen him at his worst, his most vulnerable; it felt only right that he see her at her worst too. She swiped at her face, trying to remove the evidence of her crying but only managed to smear the dirt and blood across her nose and cheeks. She looked so sullen, huddled and dirty in armor, that it struck the Prince as odd. Quite suddenly, Jaime was laughing. Loud guffaws broke from his mouth before he could help it and once the dam was breached there was no going back. He laughed and laughed and laughed, tears welling in the corner of his eyes and his muscles painfully clenching as his body shook, trying to suck in as much air as he could before bursting out again. Brienne fumed from her position on the ground and when he finally regained control of himself she stood and faced him down.

“Are you quite finished mocking me?” Jaime snickered but held his tongue when she glowered at him. Brienne did not know why the Prince had come to her, after so many hours, but he and his ridiculous laughter were not welcome.

“I’m sorry, Princess, it’s just…” He trailed off before reaching out and wiping some of the dirt from her cheek with his thumb. “You looked so small on the ground, all covered in dirt,” he held up his thumb to show her what he had swiped from her face. “Like a little girl, playing in her father’s armor.”

Her brow knit. “I’m not playing, this is my armor, and I’m not- little.” She bit her lip and he found that he could still see it. Beneath the dirt and the blood and the sweat and the scowl, he could still see the Princess underneath and not some swordswench out for glory. 

 

“Gods, no, you are not little. But you are young, very young. How old are you, Princess Brienne of Tarth?” She shuffled awkwardly and he saw her hands twitch nervously, as if to draw one of her swords. 

“Six and ten,” she replied finally, blushing. He almost didn’t notice the color infuse her cheeks beneath the freckles and grime, but he did see it. _A maid then_ , he thought, _a warrior maid. How peculiar._

“Six and ten, younger than I thought, and certainly too young to be saving cursed Kingdoms all by yourself,” he said seriously. As he predicted, she bristled at his words and stood taller. 

“I was sent on this quest by Lady Margot, and I am the only one in one hundred years to make it through the briar!” Her insistence would have been irritating if it weren’t so amusing. 

“Be that as it may, I think we both know you are in need of assistance,” he finished, in his most authoritative tone. He usually spoke that way when addressing his men, and felt that an aspiring knight might respond to it. Jaime had been the captain of the Lannister Guard for the last year before he ventured into that damned tower, and he was glad to see that he had not been wrong. Brienne nodded stiffly at him.

“Perhaps,” she gritted out, and he could see in the set of her shoulders how little she liked admitting it. “Though, I have no way to contact the Lady Margot or my father. Does Casterly Rock have a beacon I might light?” Brienne pondered the question of where to find help, completely ignoring the incredulous stare of Prince Jaime. _Daenerys might help_ , she thought. Though, how one contacted a dragon, she was not sure.

“You jest?” He waited for her to respond but the girl merely stared, faraway in her thoughts, and Jaime irritably snapped his fingers in front of her face to gain her attention. “Me, I will help you! Gods, you’re thick. Who else would come?” She scowled at him.

“How?”

“I’m sorry? I don’t follow. I would help you to break the curse, obviously.” 

“How? How do you expect to help me? You’ve only just woken up and you know nothing about the curse, you didn’t even know you were cursed.” He knew his mouth was hanging open but he couldn’t seem to wipe the shock from his face. “What do you know about being a knight?” She asked the question derisively and Jaime felt his pride wriggle uncomfortably in his stomach like a tiny, furious dragon, breathing fire in his chest.

“I’ll have you know I am Captain of the City Guard, the best sword in Westeros,” he bellowed at her, invading her space.

“I am the best sword in Westeros!” Her stance was wide and prepared to fight, although he had no weapon. She let him invade her space and stood stock still, refusing to back down. 

“You? You’re a girl!” He replied, shouting in her face. Her eyes blazed, like the sky on fire. He thought he saw every color of the sea in her eyes. Every shade of sapphire he knew swam between her lashes as she stood against him, all of them burning. Jaime was motionless as he met her gaze, refusing to back down. 

Without a word she removed one of the swords from her belt and placed the hilt roughly in his hand. The weight of the sword fell forward, the tip resting in the dirt of the yard. Jaime lifted the weapon at his side, feeling the perfect weight and balance in his hand without taking his eyes from the tall, obstinate girl in front of him. “For years men like you have sneered at me, and for years I have been knocking men like you into the dust.” 

“You think you can beat me in a fair fight?” He knew his voice was mocking, but even he could hear the thrill. The edge of excitement at having a sword in his hand couldn’t be hidden. She drew her own blade, the one he knew she was most comfortable with because she wore it on her left so that it would be easily drawn with her right hand. When they met again, their blades kissing beneath the sun, it was as equals. Her sword was well-crafted and her hand was steady but his blade was superior and his strikes more agile. The thrill of the fight boiled his blood and he found himself smiling as she consistently met his attacks and swiftly countered. 

Prince Jaime’s breath was labored yet the Princess was as unwavering as an aurochs, her speed only increasing as they clashed. Strike, strike, turn, and strike again. Overhead, upward lunge, across the body, Jaime twisted to block her and struck back lightning fast. He felt himself fading under her onslaught and, being that he was unarmored, he suspected she was avoiding full body strikes. It exasperated him. Grunting, he fortified himself to strike a blow that would disarm her and waited for his opening. When he saw it, a small gap and one he was unlikely to see again, Jaime moved to strike at her wrist. He lunged and, miraculously, she dodged, but only because she sensed the heat and fell back from their clash. 

“Dracarys,” she whispered, her eyes following the burning blade as he threw the sword to the ground. The minute the sword left his fingers the long steel blade extinguished, but the metal still smoked.

“Gods, what is that?” Jaime asked her but he was already beginning to recognize the hilt. He had not examined the sword when she handed it to him, he’d had eyes for nothing but her face and then later, her blade as it swung towards him. He had not spared his own weapon more than a glance once his arm had deemed the weight and balance suitable. Now he stared at the lion head pommel, the very same that inspired the helmets of the Lannister Guardsmen. He knelt down and let his fingers wander over the crisscrossed red leather of the grip and the gold of the cross-guard. 

“Bright Roar,” she said but the words were already on the tip of his tongue. 

“Where did you get this?” he demanded reverently, his fingers finding the hilt again and gingerly lifting the weapon. 

“It was a gift, from Lady Margot. A dragon breathed on it so that I might cut a path through the hedge. But-but the words, I never spoke the words.” Her face was open and bewildered. “I tried before, but the blade wouldn’t burn.” 

“A dragon? A dragon breathed on this sword?” His eyes were wide as he examined her and Brienne felt her blush returning. Jaime was looking at her like she was the most interesting thing in the world and Brienne instinctively took a step away from him but he followed after her. He moved as though he anticipated her every reaction, it was how he’d fought her as well. “Princess, this is Bright Roar, a sword passed down the Lannister line from as far back as we can remember. It was lost, along with my Uncle Gerion, to the smoking sea.”

“I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out. “I didn’t realize.” Brienne calmed her breath, afraid she might stutter her request. If the sword would light for Jaime, perhaps he could cut his way from the briar. He could carve her a path out and be rid of her. She held her tongue, knowing she had to ask him and almost wanting him to refuse. She almost wanted to stay, to not abandon her quest, but she couldn’t see what else she could accomplish. Resolving herself, Brienne sheathed Maiden’s Kiss and bowed to the man who had done naught but fight her and insult her since his waking. “Prince Jaime, I- I have failed to complete my quest, yet I cannot escape this castle. If you would, I ask that you release me. I cannot cut my own path through the briar, but you can.” 

“You wish to leave?” 

She watched as Jaime tilted his head, his glinting green eyes narrowing in thought as he appraised her. She did not know what he could be thinking, what there was to debate. He did not want her there, not really, and she did not want to be there. She would go home and lick her wounds, apologize for her failure to her father, Ser Goodwin, and Lady Margot. _Or perhaps_ , she thought, _I could ask his forgiveness. I could cry on his shoulder. Is that not what all men want; soft, delicate Princesses in need of saving?_ “The dragon said the sword would obey its master, you are the eldest son of Tywin Lannister. You are its master, the word ‘Dracarys’ will light the steel. ‘Kirimvose’ will quench the flames.”

“You want to leave?” He repeated the question and sincerely hoped she would answer truthfully.

“Yes,” she replied hesitantly before correcting herself and adding false courage to her answer. “Yes, I want to leave.”

Jaime stepped towards the tangle of vines and brambles and threatening thorns that Brienne had been trying to hack through, fruitlessly slashing and ripping apart her hands. He turned back to her, seeing the hilt of her sword smeared with blood and cursing his forgetting, in the heat of the moment, her torn skin. She looked broken and it made him angry to see someone so fearsome, look so lost. “Dracarys,” he spoke loudly, watching the Valyrian steel burst into bright flames. He waved the sword carefully before him before slashing at the thicket. The brambles fell away, the bases smoking where they’d been cut. He heard Brienne move behind him, preparing to follow him out. Instead of continuing forward he stared at the sword before slowly and clearly speaking, loud enough for her to hear. “Kirimvose.”

“What are you doing?” He turned to find her close to his back, and he saw hope in her face. It was exactly what he’d expected, exactly what he’d wanted. 

“I am refusing you, Princess. You may not leave. You are going to have a bath, you are going to let me treat the wounds you so carelessly inflicted on your hands, and you are going to aid me in taking back my Kingdom.” Brienne watched as he swiped away hair from his brow and smiled charmingly at her to disguise his orders. 

“I am not some commoner, you cannot herd me like a sheep,” she huffed, crossing her arms. Jaime smirked. To his surprise she pouted similarly to his sweet sister.

“You are too big to be a sheep,” he laughed. “More like an aurochs, if you ask me.”

“I did not ask you. Though, if you can help it, might you not compare me to livestock?” His barbs were wearing on her. He could see how they stuck under her skin and tugged on her, pulling her. He wondered if she knew which direction they were towing her. 

“It was your comparison first, but if not an aurochs, then how do you fancy being a prisoner, Princess? You are, of course, as I was. And one I am loath to release. I am asking you, once again, begging, for your help, Brienne, Princess of Tarth. Tell me of the curse, help me to break it.” She wanted to help him, she wanted to wake the Kingdom, but she saw no other avenue for them to traverse. She had woken him and the castle remained a sleepy grave. Brienne’s mind jumped fleetingly to the kiss Maggy had told her she would need to give to Jaime, the kiss she had been prepared to give to wake the West. Could she still give it? Might that be what was keeping the smallfolk trapped in their dreams? She didn’t want to let them sleep when she could wake them, but Brienne knew she could not kiss the Prince. 

Still, perhaps she could be of some scant help to him. After all, he had refused her passage home, what more could she do? Would they live like the men on the Quiet Isle, together and apart? Would he continue to refuse her request to leave just out of spite? Would she remain sullen and silent to punish him? Would they die there? She could not let that happen, would not. “I will try. I will try to help you.”

The smile that cracked his face was genuine and she was unsurprised that his perfect teeth looked near predatory when he grinned. “Good,” he said, not ‘thank you,’ she noted. “First things first,” Jaime clapped his hands together and gestured at her, “you need a good washing.” 

Brienne blushed from the roots of her wheat-colored mop to the tips of her bloodied fingers at his mentioning her need of a bath, but it couldn’t be helped. She was covered head-to-foot in muck and her hands were swollen and bloody from her ineffectual attempts to strangle the brambles that barred them in. “The journey-” she began, flustered, but Jaime only held up his hand.

“Was long and hard, I understand, Princess. A quest is liable to dirty the fairest maid,” he said kindly, truthfully. Though she was by no means fair, he had to admit she was made fairer in his eyes for her fierce determination, or at the least intriguing. “I just thought you might miss the feel of clean skin, and your hands need to be cleaned and treated. Those thorns…” He trailed off, reaching out and taking one of her large hands in his. He let his fingers trail over her callouses that matched his own, and the many small nicks and cuts that littered her skin, obscuring her freckles. 

“I would like to clean up,” she relented, her hand shaking in his. She was nervous, trying to control herself, but she lacked the assurance she’d had with a sword in her hand. 

“Then please, my Princess, I ask you as my guest to make use of Casterly Rock’s hot springs. I apologize I cannot provide a proper tub but perhaps there may be some soaps or salts of use in the castle.” He rubbed soothing circles on her wrist, easing her nerves and coercing her subtly. 

“I have lye soap in my pack…but-” She broke off and pulled her hand from his grip slightly, but he held on.

“A change of clothes then, something clean to wear? This could be a very, very long ordeal if you insist on wearing that armor. I will get you something, please, get your soap and make use of the springs.” He put on his most soothing voice, his most charming smile. “When you are finished I would be honored to share dinner with you, you can tell me everything this Lady Margot told you of the curse laid upon me and mine.” 

She nodded, hesitant but resolute. She struck Jaime as a skittish animal, wounded. A little girl, frightened. She was a warrior, beaten but still fighting. “I’ve never bathed out of doors,” she started and he felt a shiver run through her and travel up his fingers. It settled in his shoulders and ran down his spine, warming his chest and pooling low in his abdomen. The feeling was unfamiliar but pleasant, and he squeezed her hand tighter. 

“I promise you’ll be all alone, Brienne, no eyes but mine have opened here in one hundred years if you’re to be believed. May I call you Brienne?” Her brow dipped and he couldn’t help but grin as the cogs worked in her head.

“You can believe me, Prince Jaime,” she replied firmly. 

“I know. Please, just Jaime,” he insisted.

“Jaime,” her voice was sure as she spoke and it caused another tremor to pool again between his hips. The Prince released her, surprised at his body’s odd reaction. She looked just as surprised as he felt, but she covered it well, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword easily.

“I will go find you something to wear, please, wash up. I’ll leave you plenty of time and call out before I enter the garden. I can leave your clothes on the large rock near the smallest pool.” His tone was brusque again and she responded to his authority. Jaime wondered if perhaps the girl’s father had been a soldier, if she had a brother. Perhaps that brother had taught her to wield a sword, perhaps her father had spoken to her with command. 

“Yes, thank you…Jaime.” She did not smile but at least she did not scowl. He headed for the garden, leading her to the springs. They’d both gone through them earlier but he suspected Brienne hadn’t really looked considering her desire to be away from him. 

The gardens of Casterly Rock were overgrown and tangled, but still lush. After the days of wading through the brittle, black thorns and being pricked and scraped, she was glad to be surrounded by bright colors. The sky above was blue, the flowers of the garden were yellow and red and the brightest purple Brienne had ever seen. She felt nerves skitter under skin as she approached the hot springs. They steamed, dotted between cooler pools, surrounded by flowering vines and tall green grasses. She immediately headed for the furthest pool, it was deep, although smallish, and partially hidden by overhanging trees. When she turned back, Jaime was already leaving, with his hand raised over his head in a wave. The rock where he promised to leave her new garments was far off, but still too close for her to be comfortable. She had not lied; she has never bathed out of doors, although she knew that some noblemen and women of the North took advantage of the hot springs. It was not uncommon too on Tarth. Brienne knew the smallfolk often bathed in the many waterfalls on the islands. Casterly Rock was not Tarth, she felt not so near as safe in the West as she had done in the East, but she would not turn away Prince Jaime’s hospitality after deciding to aid him and complete her quest. 

She took a deep breath and began unbuckling her plate. It took longer than she expected. The leather was warped and thin in places, stuck steadfast in others. Her swollen fingers were clumsy and she had to concede that he was right, her hands needed to be cleaned and treated. Brienne hissed when she finally sunk into the steaming water. When she pulled the lye soap from her pack it burned her scrapes and nearly caused her to drop it. She held on tightly, ignoring the tears in her eyes, and rubbed the soap between her fingers. She furiously sloughed off the dead skin and dried blood, exposing the cuts and scrapes. There were fewer than she thought, and once they were cleaned the pain lessened. When she was finished she began to scrub at her hair, dragging her jagged nails across her scalp and clearing away the miasma of muck that had plagued her. She dunked her head under water, and as the dirt was rinsed from her fingernails and the sweat from her face, she began to feel hopeful. Her skin was pink from the heat of the water and her fingers were beginning to wither but Brienne never wanted to leave that spring. She slid boneless against the pebbled edge, green grass tickling her neck, and sighed. 

“Princess? Princess?” Brienne opened her eyes suddenly and Jaime’s face swam into focus before her, obscured by steam. “Thank the Gods. I thought you were one of them!” His voice was frantic and he looked immensely relieved to see her awake. 

Brienne screamed.

She covered her chest and scrambled against the side of the pool, her feet trying to find purchase and her back pressed as far as she could go against the smooth stone. 

“Go, go away!” She shouted but he only rolled his eyes. Brienne could feel her blood singing through her body, alerting all her nerves and flushing her face and chest beneath his inquisitive gaze. 

“Please, Brienne, I was only worried. I’m not looking at…at you. I can’t see anything beneath that filthy water,” he lied. “You should rinse off in one of the other pools before you dress and to cool down, I think you might be flushed from the heat. I wouldn’t want you to be the first person to faint in the spring, Princess.”

“I am not going to faint,” she mumbled, despite the situation.

“I would hope not, I would hate to have to pull you out. You’re no small thing, if you don’t mind my saying.” He smiled disarmingly but she only blushed deeper and sunk lower in the water, not that it helped. He could clearly see her and despite his promises and protestations, he rather enjoyed the view. He thought she had more of a woman’s figure beneath the water, and was reluctant to take his eyes away. He had seen naked women before, his mother when he was young and his sister when he was older, but none like her. She was a pleasing combination of innocence and impetuousness. He’d seen lusty tavern wenches and whores, chamber maids and unfaithful noblewomen, though he never took one to bed. Still, the pale thatch between her legs, magnified by the waves she created trying to hide her minimal bosom, beckoned to him and made his blood run hot through parts of his anatomy that had slept along with the rest of him for one hundred years. He thought, based on how she clutched her freckly arm across her smallish bosom, she rather had her priorities confused. “I’ve left you some clothes on the rock at the entrance to the gardens. I’m going to go try to find us something to eat.

Brienne waited until he was well away to approach the rock, clutching across her chest and keeping a large hand over her womanhood. Being in the open had her nervous and jumpy, constantly waiting for the Prince to sneak up on her again and catch her unawares. She had not realized how tired she had been, and wondered briefly how long he’d let her sleep. The sun was lower in the sky than she remembered, but not by much. On the rock was a large swath of fabric she presumed was to dry off with. It looked a bit like a curtain but she ignored that and used it briskly, her skin warming as the water was wiped away. Then, to her horror, Brienne saw what was laid out for her. The nightgown was long and white, but not nearly long enough to reach the ground. It was white and filmy, made of some expensive lace that she was sure to tear if she tried to put it on. She also noticed a distinct lack of smallclothes, leaving her to be exposed beneath the thin fabric. She reddened, petrified, and took the dress up in trembling fingers. A note slipped to the ground and she bent gingerly to rescue it from the grass.

  
_If the nightgown is not to your liking._

_J_

There, rolled up beneath the skirt of the dress, was an almost gold tunic and a pair of black wool breeches. When she put the clothing on the breeches were tight in the hip and the tunic a bit loose in the chest, but both were superior to the dress.

“I hope the clothes are suitable,” Jaime said as he entered. She had only just finished dressing and she had the fleeting thought that perhaps he had watched, but knew better. She was not beautiful and Prince Jaime was sure to be familiar with beautiful women. 

“I thank you for the breeches and tunic, Prince Jaime.” She bowed slightly and he inclined his head in return. Then she added, with admonishment in her voice, “Your jest was unappreciated.”

He smiled but ignored her comment. “Please, Brienne, I told you to call me Jaime. We are equals here.” He was surprised at how much he meant the words. He hadn’t been equal to anyone in some time, not even his twin with whom he was alike in most every way. Brienne though, she was indeed on equal footing with him, perhaps she had an even better grasp of the situation, regardless of him being more comfortable at the Rock. 

“Jaime, then. I have some dried sausage and bread, I would be happy to share.” Her tentative smile was almost sweet and he returned it. He had a kind face, when he wasn’t sneering or insulting her. She told herself that he was only being kind to get something from her, to get help from her. She knew it to be true, but she almost wanted him to regard her well. He had seemed so concerned when she’d fallen asleep, and he’d touched her hand so tenderly when he’d seen that she had injured herself. She could still feel his sure, steady fingers on the pulse at her wrist. 

“I would be delighted, Brienne, to share your provisions. I have found some things to contribute too, however. Tomatoes and I managed to pull up a few wild carrots.” She nodded approvingly and set off for a large flat rock amidst the steaming pools. His mother used to picnic there with him and his siblings. Brienne, not knowing, easily sat on the rock, propping up her pack and pulling out her provisions. Jaime returned to the castle entrance and retrieved the burlap sack he’d used to collect vegetables. When he returned to the rock she had sliced up the sausage and was tearing the hard bread into manageable chunks. He’d washed his mouth out, cleaning it as best he could, and drank some water, but his stomach ached with hunger and the sight of her laying the food out made his mouth water. 

His stomach growled when he sat down and Brienne looked up surprised. “Hungry? I’m surprised you didn’t eat gathering the tomatoes.” She pushed over his share and Jaime tore a chunk of bread off brutally and swallowed. 

“I didn’t even think about it,” he replied truthfully. No, he had been thinking about her instead. The way she’d fought him, stood up to him. How gentle she had been in the tower and the way her sparkling eyes had been the first thing he’d seen when he awoke. He hated to think of her in a way that was…unchivelrous, for she deserved better. But every time he closed his eyes he saw her in the water. The small waves lapping at her skin, the blond hair that was at the apex of her thighs, the way her freckles seemed to have been sprinkled over her head like Faerie dust and fallen down her shoulders and onto her arms and down her chest. He pushed the thoughts away, focusing on her bravery and honor. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been to hack for days at the briar that surrounded his home, her sword hot and heavy in her hands. She had been dirty, yes, but he was honest when he had said her road had been a difficult one. Yet she had still come, though she did not know him or his family. Though she had no ties to the West and could have remained perfectly content in the East, married to some fat lord and chasing around towheaded brats that would grow to be as tall as she was. No. Instead she had ventured across the continent, to a land which she had never been, and at only six and ten, to save him. 

They ate in relative silence, both of them hungry and neither one sure of how to proceed. When they finished Jaime took her hands in his, turning them over so that her palms faced up and he could see the cuts more clearly. “I think it is time we took care of this, yes?” Brienne bit her lip and nodded to him but Jaime rolled his eyes and dragged her hands closer to his lap. “Brienne, I have been asleep for a very long time, I think I have had enough of silence.”

She bit her lip again but opened her mouth after a moment. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to being treated by anyone other than the maester of Tarth, forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Have you got any salves or ointments in that pack of yours? I checked the maester’s chambers while you bathed but found little that did not fall apart in my hands, unfortunately.” She nodded again and blushed when he looked pointedly at her.

“Yes, I have some bandages, there should be something for the cuts,” she said, her blush receding as she began to tell him how to use the little jar of salve on her hands and how to properly wrap the bandages. 

He helped to wash them in the smallest pool beside his mother’s favorite spot, making sure to get any dirt or grease from their meal off before proceeding. Then Jaime massaged the broken skin of her palms carefully, for probably longer than necessary, before he wrapped both of her hands and set them gently back in her lap. She seemed to be in less pain, which he was glad of. “I hope this helps, I’m afraid I am not a very deft hand with field dressings.”

“It was a fine job,” she said with finality. She, of course, would know all about treating wounds. It was frustrating, he felt as though she knew everything and he nothing. 

“Princess, Brienne, why did you come here?” Her hands fluttered in her lap and he saw the beginnings of her blush creeping across her chest. He ignored it to look into her eyes. They were the bluest eyes he had ever seen, and whenever he mentioned her quest they looked so sad and unsure that he couldn’t help but prod her. He wanted to know how this fierce woman came to be in his sad little corner of the world.

“The Lady Margot, she came to me and told me of the curse. She said- she said I was the only one that could break it.” Brienne ducked her head down into her chest but Jaime felt his fingers on her chin before he even knew they were moving. He lifted her face back up to meet his eyes.

“Why? Because you are brave? Because you are a better swordsman than any man I’ve ever fought? Is it because you can speak with dragons or because you are the most fearsome lady of my acquaintance and surely hers as well?” She shivered beneath his hand and met his eyes determinedly.

“I believe Lady Margot thinks, thought, us to be equals, you and I,” Brienne’s tone was soft, but she did not stutter or cower in the face of his compliments. He hoped she knew that was what they were, compliments for a woman the likes of which he had never known.

“I have been asleep for one hundred years, how could she think to know my equal?” He had not removed his hand from her chin, but let it slide carefully to grasp the side of her face, and he tilted her head gently as if appraising her features. “Although, I must admit she did an admirable job.” Brienne tried to hold her heart in place, she tried to keep her words steady and not let the wrong ones fall from her mouth. She willed away the shiver and the blush she knew crept beneath her skin at his invasion of her space. She tried to remind herself that he had been asleep for one hundred years. He was in a new situation and a desperate one. He needed only the comfort of not feeling alone and she would give that to him. She also knew she had to tell him what Maggy had said, that the woman had told Brienne to kiss him and that she had failed to do so. She had to tell him what Maggy had called her, what the dragon had named her. She was the Princess that was promised. “Tell me how this Lady came to know of the West.”

“I do not know, but I believe she is a very old, perhaps older than even you.” 

He laughed but it was harsh. “Princess, I am only eight and ten, regardless of long I slept. Do I look an old man to you?”

“No,” she told him, for that was the truth. He looked a young man, indeed, golden and perfect and everything a Prince or a Knight, or even a King, should be. 

“Tell me, what did this Lady tell you had to be done to break the curse?” His warm hand slid back and held her chin aloft so that she could not hide from his eyes. He was becoming very used to the shifts in her face, the way she not only reddened but clenched her strong jaw when she was embarrassed or relaxed against his skin when he stayed still for long enough. He noted the reflections in her eyes and how the blue seemed to shift color with her mood. 

“She said I was to travel to the border of the Westerlands and enlist the help of the dragon that resided there. Daenerys would temper the sword, Bright Roar, to aid me in reaching my destination. I was to go to the castle and find the tower that held you. She said if I reached that tower my quest would be complete, all I would have to do would be to…” She trailed off and Jaime leaned in unconsciously, waiting to hear what would break the curse. Perhaps the girl had gotten it wrong. There could still be hope. “She said I was to kiss you.” The words came out in a jumbled rush and Brienne pulled her head jerkily from his delicate grasp, burying her chin in her chest and her bandaged hands coming up to cover her eyes. 

Jaime lifted his hands to his mouth, ruing the missed opportunity to feel her lips on his. No wonder when he had opened his eyes she had been the only thing in his vision. “And you did, but only I awoke.”

“No, no, I didn’t,” she cried. “I couldn’t. I’ve never kissed a man and I was-I didn’t want-but it does not matter for when I touched your face, you woke up.” Never been kissed? He could certainly believe that. She was not beautiful. She was not delicate or maidenly. She was, however, still a maid, and though perhaps the men of Tarth could not see the Princess beneath the armor, Jaime certainly could. 

“Then you did not complete your quest, Princess. I am sorry to say it.” He was smiling but she was too preoccupied hiding from him to see it. He reached a tentative hand out to stroke her brittle hair and found that though it was thick as a horse’s mane, it was still soft to the touch. She shuddered beneath his fingers but she was too close to escape his grip when he snaked an arm around her and placed his hand at the small of her back, just above the belt of her breeches. “I think, Brienne, it is time you kept your word.” Prince Jaime could not have been handed a sweeter chance then this young warrior woman’s confession, to do what he so longed to do. 

He pulled her hands from her face and Brienne gasped to find him so close. She felt his hand on her back and his breath on her skin and it was as if the quiet garden ceased to exist as he looked at her with tender care. The feelings that bloomed in her chest were warm, soft, and made her think of home and her father. Jaime was looking at her as King Selwyn would, as if she was the most precious thing in the Realm. And yet there was something different in his eyes, it seemed to her to be something she could never have described as fatherly, something new. Brienne froze, powerless to stop him, when Jaime leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was warm and chaste but she felt the heat of it in her limbs as they wrapped around his neck and the press of his chest as he gathered her closer to him. When she opened her mouth to sigh he let his tongue slip between her lips and melt into hers with practiced precision. The birds sang, and the frogs croaked, and still she focused only on him and the way his eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as he moaned into her mouth

When he finally released her, she looked at him so sweetly that he kissed her once more, and held her tightly to him, vowing never to let her go. 

4.

> _And the King awoke, and the Queen, and the whole court, and looked at each other in great astonishment. And then the marriage of the King’s son and the Princess was celebrated with splendor, and they lived contented to the end of their days._

Jaime was stood between his brother and sister, both of them laughing as he detailed for them the sword fight between himself and his new wife. Brienne sat at the high table, her hand delicately laid about her wine glass, observing the festivities with a practiced eye. She was never comfortable at these sorts of events, let alone dressed as she was. Her dress was blue and gold brocade, with fringed sleeves, and she wore her husband’s cloak of gold and red on her back. She should be beautiful and happy but she wasn’t, or rather, she wasn’t beautiful. She was happier than she ever imagined she would be at her own wedding and she could not have asked for a fairer, more loving, or more infuriating husband as Jaime Lannister. He was a kind and gentle man, but he had a biting sense of humor and the habit of dragging her into the light when she longed to hide in the dark. She watched as he threw the imaginary sword onto the ground in feigned shock, shaking off invisible flames, his younger brother’s eyes widening at the mention of Daenerys.

Brienne smiled. The wine seeped through her blood and beneath her skin as she let her eyes wander from her husband to the rest of the guests of Casterly Rock. Daenerys was at the table set in all manner of opulence and reverence for the Faeries, not being a full-blooded dragon but only a Faerie from the Kingdom of Old Valyria. After the kingdom awoke her and her brother came forward, revealing themselves to Tywin and Joanna Lannister, and helped to burn away the remains of the dead hedge. In gratitude to them and to Lady Margot, who preferred the title Maggy the Frog, which King Tywin seemed to recognize, he invited all the Faeries. King Tywin had even invited the Queen of Thorns under advisement of his Queen. The Faerie Queen was happy to attend and even offered her apologies, admitting that she, perhaps, had over-reacted to the slight of her being forgotten at the christening. Jaime had snickered at the apology but Brienne’s hand on his thigh silenced him. 

The Faeries all sat together at their table, eating from golden plates and drinking from crystal goblets, it was a sight to behold. Each one was different but all had the same otherworldly shimmer about them that Brienne learned marked them as not entirely of her world. During the meal they walked to the high table, one by one, and blessed the couple with many gifts. One, dressed all in red lace and with bright red hair and a jewel about her neck, blessed them with a fiery passion in the marriage bed. Brienne blushed exceedingly but Jaime only grinned like the lion of his sigil. Another, a young boy dressed in wolf skins and with bottomless light blue eyes, gave them the gift of wisdom so that they may not disagree needlessly. And on and on the blessings came. They were blessed with kindness from Jenny of Oldstones and unending love from the Lady Margot. The Queen of Thorns blessed them with healthy children that would grow like weeds. The last of the Faeries to approach had been Daenerys and her brother, Rhaegar. The two were bright and beautiful as the moon. They had pale skin, purple eyes, and long white hair, tied and decorated with shimmering dragon scales. They gifted the couple with a tiny box, with openings at the sides, and inside was a delicate little green dragon. 

“He is called Viserion and he is the blood of Old Valyria, the last pure dragon,” Daenerys had said. 

Her brother had bowed and smiled, “may my little brother watch over your kingdom until the end of days.” 

Now the box sat in a place of honor, smoke curling from the holes in the sides, little flames licking carefully out to taste the air. Brienne was more closely examining the box when she heard a soft voice against her ear. “Be careful, wife, dragons are dangerous beasts.”

“As dangerous as lions, husband?” Brienne turned to him with a small smile, one she saved only for him, and he couldn’t help himself from leaning closer to her. 

“Oh no, lions are very dangerous my wife, and they have very, _very_ , large appetites,” he said lowly, close to the delicate skin of her neck. She shivered beneath his breath and Jaime let his hand wander across her shoulders and rest heavily against the other side of her face. Brienne arched into his touch, reluctantly, and narrowed her eyes. 

“They are also prideful, have you tired of telling tales for the amusement of our guests?” Jaime chuckled, but moved easily to sit himself next to her all the same. He let his hand wrap itself around hers before them on the table. 

“They are not tales if they are true, they are accounts,” he replied quickly. “And at least they make our guests laugh, which is more than I can say for you. Are you enjoying yourself, Brienne? You’ve not moved from this seat since you sat down.” He was genuinely concerned, though she did seem to brush him off with a very unladylike roll of her eyes. 

“Events like this are unkind to ungainly women with little to no grace,” she sighed, resolute in her position. She appreciated her husband’s pageantry but she was never a very good dancer.

“Anyone who has seen you with a sword in your hand could not say you lacked grace.” Jaime carefully tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid back into place. 

“And anyone who has seen me dance could not say that I have any grace at all,” she mumbled. Brienne turned to her husband, golden and beautiful and more honorable that she could have believed, and reached out to him. “I am content to observe.”

“And what have you observed then, wife?” He leaned back, casting his gaze out across Casterly Rock’s expansive great hall. The firelight was flickering in the many hearths along the walls and the players were boisterously meeting the demands of the many dancers. The walls were covered in bright tapestries depicting valiant acts from the Age of Heroes and great, brightly wrapped gifts were heaped on the tables along the walls. Brienne squeezed his hand in hers and looked again to their guests. 

“Well, Tyrion is not to be trusted with libations. King Stark is an enthusiastic, but unskilled, dancer. Your sister has not let her eyes stray from the Faerie table for some time, so taken is she with Rhaegar. My father has had too much to drink. The ladies of Bear Island are more fearsome than the men. Prince Renly will make some young woman a terrible husband, considering that he dances so much better with Ser Loras. ” Jaime laughed all the while, nodding at the accuracy of her opinions. “And-and I am sorry.”

She was blushing and no longer looking at him or their guests, but down at the table. “What have you to be sorry for? I could care less if you danced in the hall, so long as you dance with me in the yard.”

“I should have kissed you in the tower. I hadn’t meant to make things difficult, we could have avoided-” She gestured between them exasperated, blushing in apology. 

“And all this?” He questioned, gesturing at the hall and the guests and their wedding feast. 

“I could have woken you in the tower, we need not have fought, or…” She trailed off and Jaime could only shake his head. 

“It would not have worked. You know, I’ve spoken with Maggy the Frog, or Lady Margot, whatever you’d like to call her. She seems to be under the impression that only true love could’ve broken the spell. I do not think a kiss would have woken anyone but me in the tower, for in the tower I did not love you. No, I scarce knew you.” Brienne bite her lip and met his eyes.

“Nor I you.”

“And yet I do now, I think since the moment you placed Bright Roar into my hand and met my first strike.” He leaned forward and met her lips with his own, his hand gently cradling her head as he tilted her closer to him. 

The hall cheered loudly and chairs scraped as their guests rose for the bedding. Brienne was red-faced and frightened, but eager, as they pushed and prodded her to the bed chamber that she would share with Jaime for the first time. Her skin was hot and she was jumpy but at the end of the hall, inside the room, Jaime waited for her. She had loved him from the moment he refused to let her abandon her quest, and would continue to love him from that day, until her end of days. 

_

The End

_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again! As always I love each and every one of your comments, questions and kudos!
> 
> Happy Halloween J/B fandom!


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